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by DeadByJune



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: And to be a good family for their kid, Even slighter hints towards childhood trauma/abuse, I suppose this counts as fluff, Just two outlaws trying their best to be fathers, M/M, Outlaw slice of life, Pre-Canon, Religious Themes, The exact nature of their relationship is more or less vague but is certainly romantic, Very slight hints towards period-typical homophobia, Young Dutch, and a pretty young Arthur, they love each other very much, vandermatthews, very peaceful, young hosea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadByJune/pseuds/DeadByJune
Summary: Before there was the Van der Linde gang, there was a family.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





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**Author's Note:**

> Artistically inspired by _If I Go, I'm Going_ by Gregory Alan Isakov, and the love of my life.

The day was beginning to wind down when Hosea found himself on the road back home, swept past the fields of the Heartlands with the lingering warmth of a watery sunset on his back. Twilight was laid out on the horizon in velvety pastels, dripping like soft watercolors between the pines and over the distant mountaintops, soaking the world in evening blue.

Home, for a while now, had been a little cabin near Strawberry. Two bedrooms and a living space, not much more; they had found it abandoned one day while looking for shelter and decided to settle in for the time being, needing a place to stay for a while. That had everything to do with the boy they had taken in recently. Arthur was his name; barely seventeen years old and already bearing a lifetime of tragedy on his shoulders. His mother had died young and his father, a petty criminal, had been killed before his eyes, leaving him an orphan at age eleven.

With the addition of someone new to their odd little “family” of two came the responsibility of establishing some sort of much-needed structure in the boy’s life. It hadn’t been easy to get through to him at first, but with patience and gentle persistence they had eventually managed to lure him out of his shell.

Gaining his trust was an ongoing process, but Arthur’s evident gratefulness made up for the occasional struggles they faced. And there were many things in the boy’s upbringing they had to catch up on. They taught him how to read and how to hunt; how to ride a horse and how to shoot a gun proper, and were pleasantly surprised to find him taking up an interest in sketching the world he saw around him in a little notebook they’d gifted him for the first birthday he spent with them.

Additionally, they too found themselves learning plenty new things through caring for him. They took turns in taking care of the household and heading out to provide for them. It wasn’t as easy as they had premeditated, requiring plenty of mental gymnastics to make things work out sometimes, and they didn’t have much, but these were happy times. He came to realize this every day again when he watched Dutch and Arthur go about their day, unaware of his loving gaze, and thought about how lucky he was to have been blessed with something so good and true without as much as ever having asked for it.

It wasn’t long before a small, unassuming little house came into sight between the trees in the distance. The lights behind the windows glowed warm and welcoming as he turned away from the road and let his horse trot up to the front porch.

It was a small house, Hosea thought to himself as he neared the cabin; but it was a good house - their house. A house he shared with the two people he considered his only family in this world. Two people that he would, always and unconditionally, love for the rest of his life.

He hitched his horse out front and gave her a pat on the neck along with some hay before turning to head inside.

“Hello, boy.”

Arthur looked up from his book at the sound of his voice, meeting his gaze across the room with the usual inscrutable expression.

“Hello sir.”

Closing the door behind himself to shut out the cold Hosea glanced around the room, sniffing out the hearty smell of supper, and finding it simmering on the stove.

“Is that yours?” He asked in surprise, wandering over to check on the pots on the fire.

Arthur shook his head. “Dutch is cooking...”

“What? Poison?”

“I heard that, Hosea.”

Dutch emerged from the backroom with a can of peas in his hand and a grin on his face. They shared a fond look that lasted a couple seconds until Dutch spoke up again.

“You’re back.”

“In one piece,” Hosea confirmed with a nod, turning to face him.

“How was it?”

“Ah, same old, same old. They never suspect a thing until you’re long gone. I was halfway back down the road towards Valentine by the time they realized what’d happened, as per usual.” He watched as Dutch made his way over to the stove, opening up the can and adding the contents to what appeared to be a pot of stew.

“Oh, I know it,” he said, giving the thing a thorough stir. “Those folks are so easy to steal from. One would feel guilty for not helping them get rid of some of that extra weight they’re carrying in their pockets.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hosea agreed with a chuckle, turning away to head over to the table.

“Arthur here shot his first deer today,” Dutch announced with an almost motherly hint of pride in his voice as he focused his attention on the food cooking on the furnace again.

“Really now?” Taking his gun belt and satchel off he set it down on the table, opening it up to rummage through its contents. Starting to bring out the stacks of dollar bills he had procured, he leafed through them before neatly organizing them on the table top, straightening them out.

“How did that go for you, son?”

“Just fine I guess,” Arthur answered, his finger pausing along the lines of his book as he looked up from the page again, swiftly meeting Hosea’s gaze with those gentle blue eyes. “Dutch said hunting would be a good way to contribute to the household. Would take some weight off your shoulders too if I’d try taking care of the food. Or the part of finding it, at least.”

“Right, I see. That _is_ a great idea. So, that is what you’re suddenly going all out for, hm? Dutch?” He shot him a glance from the corner of his eye, amused. “Soon enough we’ll have a real kitchen princess on our hands.”

“Do I hear a complaint?”

“No, no, I don’t think so.” Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

Dutch paused for a moment, completely absorbed with his tireless perfectionism; then spoke again.

“I figured I might as well. I was getting sick of all the bland, tasteless grub we’ve been living off of, so I’m broadening my horizons a little. Besides, it’s a special occasion, ain’t it? You’ll always remember your first deer. I do.” He shrugged nonchalantly, glancing back over his shoulder. “Son, will you go and set the table? Dinner’s almost ready.”

With a creak of his chair Arthur rose to his feet, setting his book aside and heading over to the cabinet to bring out the plates.

As he passed him by Hosea couldn’t help but reach out and pat him on the shoulder encouragingly, earning him a smile that was little more than a faint curve to the corner of his lips, but it was honest.

It was good to see how Arthur had steadily been beginning to show more of himself lately in the care of Dutch and him. They did their best to offer him what they could - that not being a simple task in their case. A couple of outlaws trying to raise a boy together. The two of them being men, at that. But they got by. They made do with what they had and made up for what they didn’t in support and attention.

“And?” Dutch’s voice interrupted his train of thought as the younger man appeared at his sides with his hands on his hips. Curiously, he picked up one of the wads of cash, leafing the bills through his fingers just like Hosea had done moments earlier.

“Around a couple hundred dollars, I’d say. Maybe more. A pretty good catch. More than I expected to get out of this, frankly. I didn’t even try too hard.” Setting his satchel aside he gathered the money, taking back the banknotes that Dutch handed him, and moving them out of the way to make room for their plates and cups. “Either we’re getting smarter or they’re getting dumber.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dutch stated, moving to the kitchen to take the stew off the cooktop and carry it over to the dinner table. “To the victor the spoils, Hosea. What matters is that we’re still pulling it off. Now, take off your coat and have a seat. It’s been a long day. I bet we’re all hungry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he nodded, shrugging off his coat and pulling out a chair to sit down across from Arthur, who’d already settled in his place again, moving his cutlery around while he waited.

“Of course I’m right,” Dutch said, with that smug grin of his that Hosea couldn’t help but shake his head at in amusement as he watched him dish out their food.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pursing his lips. “Of course you are. How could I forget? You’re as stubborn as a woman, Dutch van der Linde.”

“You best be careful now, mister Matthews,” he pointed at him with the ladle, raising a brow. “You’d be ill-advised to antagonize me now that I’m learning how to cook something half decent.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.”

“I might. Ain’t made up my mind quite yet. Night is still young. Would you like some tea?”

“Chamomile, if we’ve got any.”

“Me too, Dutch. Please,” Arthur spoke up, seemingly almost embarrassed by his request, nudging his empty mug. Hosea and Dutch - they shared a subtle glance across the table without a word.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’ll get some too, son. Don’t worry, we’re not forgetting about you. Ain’t nobody gonna forget about you no more,” Dutch gently reassured him, turning around to head back over to the stovetop and fetch their steaming tea kettle, adding some chamomile flowers from a fresh-picked bunch hung to dry before returning to the table with it.

“Thank you. I could really use a cup. Been looking forward to one all afternoon.” Hosea ran a hand through his hair, scooting his chair a little closer to the table before picking up his spoon. “So, apart from cooking, what have you been up to?”

“The usual.” Dutch nudged at a piece of venison on his plate with scrutinizing stare, not entirely pleased with the outcome, or so Hosea deducted. It was hard to please Dutch, even when you were Dutch.

“Is that so... No trouble, I hope?” He quipped, sending a wink over to Arthur across the table, who answered with a little smile.

“Without you? You know me better than that, dear friend. Now eat up, before it goes cold.”

“Right. Arthur - will you say Grace for us? You’re the one who brought home the food today,” he offered.

A silence followed. The young man was visibly taken aback a little by the request for a good few moments, blinking long lashes under the golden light, his lips parted in mute confusion.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t feel comfortable. One of us can do it,” Hosea added.

“No, sir, I’d like to. I just... I don’t think I’m any good at that kinda thing.”

“You’ve heard us do it plenty times before. You’ll be just fine, I know it.” Dutch reached out to put his hand over Arthur’s, giving it a slight pat. “Go ahead. No need to be shy.”

Locking gazes with Hosea again, Arthur raised his brows, as if looking for some kind of permission, or perhaps, for reassurance.

Hosea only nodded.

“Go ahead, son.”

At that, Arthur scooted forward in his chair, clearing his throat, just a tad nervous. The boy hadn’t been exactly raised religious by his late father, and although neither of them cared particularly about religion, they had wanted to do right by him. To instill some morals and values in the young man they took under their wings, if only symbolically so. To teach him to be thankful and humble. And so far, Hosea thought they were doing a wonderful job.

“Alright, well...” He started, a little hesitant as he looked down at his plate, gingerly folding his hands against the edge of the table. “Father, thank You for, uh... For providing, for us. And for the warmth of the sun and the refreshment of water. And for all other things good. Like... The Fall, and the harvest. And the blessing of food with loved ones. Thank you, Lord. Amen.”

“That’s it. Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Dutch smiled at him.

“Nicely done, Arthur.” Hosea reached over to pick up the kettle, pouring all of them a steaming cup of tea. “Well, let’s eat then. Enjoy your meal.”

“Likewise,” Dutch added before he began to eat.

“And you,” Arthur mumbled, digging into his stew.

For a fleeting moment Hosea couldn’t help but watch him; observe that perpetual childish innocence in him that guided every clumsy movement, limbs too long for his torso, too old to be a boy and too young to be a man - he was balancing on the ever-awkward line right in between, where everything changes overnight and yet remains the same in many other ways. He looked almost out of place sitting at a table and eating from a plate and drinking from a cup. In such stark contrast to Dutch’s poise, Dutch’s straight posture; his sharp tongue and even sharper gaze and the purpose in his every movement.

They weren’t so far apart in age. His partner was twenty-four now. He had six years on Arthur and yet Hosea could barely begin to imagine Dutch as anything other than what he was and had been ever since the day they first met along the road to Chicago. Strong and determined and idealistic, and as much a father figure to Arthur as he was. Of course, he had grown. He was more responsible now; a little more down-to-earth than he had been back then - a tireless dreamer with his head up in the clouds.

But deep down, he was still the same. In him, Hosea could still see that boy, not yet quite a man even if he had come off age. A stargazer. A philosopher. A lover.

For a while they sat and ate in silence, quietly content in the warmth and the safety of their simple home, the sound of the wind whispering through the high grass and the trees outside, and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

It wasn’t quite like the camps Dutch and him used to set up when they moved around. They’d sleep under the stars and wash up in the river and cook dinner over the campfire, and when a new wind rose, they packed up what little possessions they had and followed it down to where it would lead them.

First and foremost, the two of them were opportunists who lived off luck. There was artistry in their craft; a kind of poetry in the way they went about executing their plans. Crime was an art. And Dutch; a virtuoso. The young man with the sun tucked away in his chest - he spoke of wonderful things; freedom, liberty, love. His dreams and his wishes and the beliefs he cherished despite being told he was nothing but a delusional fool.

For hours Hosea could listen to that honeyed voice spilling whispers in the halflight, like secrets meant for his ears only, about a vision of the future where they would have the world. And he let himself be swept away by the sweet promises willingly.

When Dutch was good he was great, and when he was great he was a small calamity; a one-man forest fire that would stop at nothing in its path, and burn all throughout the night and well into the morning. His passion and his idealism; the romance and the beauty he saw in everything wherever he went - it had managed to captivate him years ago and never let him go.

Dutch van der Linde, with his eyes of brandy; crowned with soft, shiny whorls of black hair framing his face. He must have been the embodiment of every mother’s cautionary tale.

“What’s on your mind, Hosea?” Dutch broke the silence after a while, observing him calmly from his side of the table. Nothing ever went by him unnoticed.

Hosea just shook his head along with a slight shrug. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just... Thinking.”

His words were met by an inquisitive tilt of his head.

Leaning back into his chair, he looked at the scene before him, keeping quiet for a moment - the three of them at the table together - an unconventional little family, but a good one. A warm one. A loving one.

“I’m... Happy,” he then finally decided with a nod, meeting Dutch’s gaze once again.

The other man smiled, slowly looking down at his plate as he thought for a moment before giving his answer. “I’m happy, too.”

Reaching under the table, Hosea gently nudged at Dutch’s hand, and the other answered his touch as if by instinct, their fingers tangling together with a soft squeeze for just a moment.

“Arthur, would you like some more stew?” Dutch then asked, casually, leaning over to stir the pot with his free hand. “We still got some left.”

“No sir, thank you - I’m full.” He politely declined, shaking his head as he dropped his hands into his lap and sat back. “I think I may just... Hit the hay early tonight. I’m beat.”

“You worked hard today. You just see what you do.” He began to rise to his feet, reaching to collect their empty plates, but Hosea was quicker.

“Let me take care of that, Dutch. You both done did enough for today. Sit a while,” he assured him, gently putting his hand over the one that was already holding onto the plate.

“I got it. Leave it to me.”

Dutch stared back at him in surprise a moment, and then finally relented, pulling back.

“Alright. Arthur, shall you and I play a game of dominoes before you head off to bed, then?”

The boy looked up, seemingly hesitating for a moment as he uneasily rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t know, Dutch... I’d love to, but… Games ain’t exactly my strong suit.”

“Then I’ll help you. C’mon, get the box out. Where did we put it away last time?”

Hosea watched as the two began rummaging through the room together, finally locating the box in the bookcase, and as they set up to play their game of dominoes, Hosea rolled up his sleeves and got to cleaning the dishes gathered in the sink.

It wasn’t much work, and he had the pleasure of being able to listen in on the brown noise of their conversation in the background. As they sat around the table, and played, and drank the remainder of their tea, he couldn’t help but glance back at them over his shoulder occasionally, smiling at the sight; Dutch’s patience with Arthur and the joy he managed to inspire in him with his words of encouragement - that boy was gonna be just fine, Hosea mused while calmly humming a song under his breath.

As long as they were together, he would always have someone to talk to and a shoulder to lean on. A place to call home.

Once the cleaning had been taken care of - the dishes returned to their cabinets and the cutlery to its drawer - he rejoined them at the table, picking up the book he had been reading in the past week or so: John Stuart Mill’s _On Liberty_ , which Dutch, vocally passionate about the work, had borrowed to him upon completing his own reading of it.

Evenings like these, where all three of them were together - they always passed so swiftly and could never last long enough for him. Domestic and unhurried, they idly spent their time on the simple little pleasures that were card games or warm cups of coffee. Especially now that Fall had arrived, and the days were swiftly growing longer and darker, they found themselves staying in much more frequently than they did during the summer months, seeking out each other’s company on cold and rainy evenings. It was a simple comfort, having a home to return to at the end of a hard day’s work, and the sight of it in the distance - of that peaceful little cabin quietly slumbering between the trees - it never failed to fill him with a profound sense of satisfaction and a heartfelt happiness.

The warm touch of a hand placing itself upon his knee drew his attention, and he looked up, gaze fixing on the man seated closest to him.

He sat twisted in his chair and faced him with those big brown eyes of his - unarguably, the greatest source of warmth in the room; even when the fire burned bright and the oil lamps glowed warm and golden, it was his gaze that seemed to chase any kind of darkness away.

“Don’t forget about your tea, ‘Sea. It’ll go cold.”

In the rosy light he looked like a Renaissance painting - a Botticelli angel with life breathed into him by God Himself; the way soft curls fell forward over his ears and framed his face without pomade to keep them fixed securely in place, and for a moment he was completely lost in the sight of him, until, in the background, Arthur began to rise to his feet, and his spell was broken.

“Are you going to bed?”

“I think so,” he yawned, slowly stretching out before running a hand through his tousled hair. “Can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

“Well, hunting isn’t light work. Go get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Alright. I’ll be turning in for the night then, I guess; goodnight, Hosea - Dutch, you too...” And with a little nod of his head he turned around and began heading for his bedroom, pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders with a sigh.

From his peripheral vision, Hosea noticed how Arthur attempted to cast a subtle but lingering glance back over his shoulder at the two men remaining in the room together, the slightest quirk to his brow - the way dogs do when trying to make sense of one thing or another. Then he vanished into his bedroom, and closed the door behind himself.

Of course, Hosea thought to himself amused, barely managing to suppress a snort as he picked up his cup and drank the last of his lukewarm tea. The boy wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to pretend he was. He must have realized at some point; must have noticed by now that there was something profound between the two of them that ran deeper than any devoted friendship he’d ever witnessed before, or the sincere love between brothers. Something enduring and true that Hosea himself in all those years had not quite managed to find the words for.

And Arthur - he never mentioned or questioned anything. Perhaps he simply didn’t care, or, perhaps, he _understood_. Falling for Dutch the way Hosea had - it wasn’t a choice he had made; it was something that had simply happened to him. To deny it would have meant to lie to his own heart. But nothing good had ever come from refusing to face the truth. Hosea loved him. He loved him, and nothing the world could have told him would have stopped him from doing so.

Falling in love with Dutch had never been a choice. But loving him was. And if life would be kind enough, he wished to do so for the rest of his days.

For a short while after Arthur had left them, there was just the distinct rustle of him rummaging around as he prepared for bed. Then the room went quiet, and silence settled over the peaceful little cottage once more.

Outside the moon had begun to rise over the open fields that stretched out for miles and miles, and the silvery grass whispered in the evening breeze that had picked up, rustling through the leaves on the trees that had begun to take on the color of a hundred blazing shades of auburn. It stirred the flames in the hearth, humming low in the chimney - a bourdon note that reminded him of the childhood he spent far up in the mountains - the way the wind hummed him to sleep, howling among the snow-covered peaks while he slept safe and warm through many a winter storm.

Hosea glanced aside at Dutch, who sat staring pensively into the fire, comfortably curled in his chair. His breathing was low; chest rising and falling steadily as he pensively drew his thumb across his bottom lip, and he could tell by his slow, languid blinking; the way his dark lashes fell upon his cheeks, and lingered just long enough to betray a sleepy innocence in the otherwise so alert young man, that the glowing warmth and the satisfaction of a full stomach had began to make him drowsy.

He couldn’t help but smile, his heart softening at the sight of his lover, unaware of his admiring gaze. It wasn’t often he managed to catch Dutch in a moment of vulnerable unawareness. These moments were like sunrises to him; something to be enjoyed in silence, delightful in their fleetingness.

At times, he wished he could draw like their Athur could; wished he could capture these divine moments and preserve them before they would be gone forever - passing in the blink of an eye. Luckily, he had a good memory. It was hardly a challenge to call the sight of him to mind. He knew every curve and every edge of his form. The healthy glow of pink on his cheekbones, the color of a blushing dawn; the shimmer of gold on his collarbones when the sunlight kissed his skin damp from working; the sable curls of his hair splayed out on his pillow, spread around his head like an aureole as the night faded into morning.

Only after a long moment of quietly observing him did Hosea finally move, leaning over as he reached out a hand, and lightly brushed his knuckles over his cheek, up to his temple. The caress stirred Dutch awake from his drowse, and he raised up his head as he blinked into the halflight of the room before casting a questioning glance aside at Hosea. He answered with a smile and a shallow shake of his head to let him know everything was alright without breaking the silence between them. That he would let no harm befall him as long as they were together and he was around to watch over him.

It was a promise he’d made him years ago - Dutch, young and anxious, and wary of a future filled with uncertainties and trouble along the way. The world did not look kindly upon people like them, and their love had been, perhaps, a lifetime too early. What if they would drift apart? What if flaws and insecurities would drive a rift between them? What if, one day, they would no longer love each other?

He had kissed him on the head, and drawn him into his embrace as he soothingly spoke to him.

_“It’s us together against the world, Dutch. Not us against each other. Don’t you ever forget that.”_

And just like he had then, Dutch now reached up to take hold of the hand that rested on his cheek, and pressed it against the side of his face in affection for a few seconds.

 _“You think too much. Stop worrying about the things that you can’t change,”_ he had said to him. _“Stop living in the past and being afraid of the future. It’s coming, whether you want it or not. That mind of yours… It’s always been your own worst enemy...”_

 _“That is the trouble, Hosea,”_ he answered, heaving a weary sigh. _“Sometimes it’s all the thinking I’ve got available to me. It’s the only thing I can’t run from...”_

_“Then for the love of God, Dutch - stop trying. Only a fool keeps looking for solutions in the same place he’s previously failed to find any.”_

“Are you tired…?” He spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper as their hands, still intertwined, slowly fell down to bridge the space between their seats. The other man hummed in response and shook his head, then answered.

“Just a little.”

“You should get some sleep then. It’s late. You’ve done a lot of work. Tomorrow’s a fine new day...”

”What about you?” Dutch’s head tipped to the side and studied him sleepily from the corners of his eyes. “Aren’t you tired?”

Hosea smiled softly before averting his gaze, pausing a moment before speaking up again.

“I’ll just have a smoke and join you. Scamming folks all day isn’t easy work. The old gray mare ain’t what she used to be.”

“Oh, stop it,” Dutch huffed with a frown as he rose out of his seat and took a step towards him, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head while lovingly combing his fingers through the blonde hair of his lover.

“You’re as sharp and artful as ever.”

“And you’re still just as easy to get a rise out of, my love,” he replied amusedly, gazing up at him with a smirk as Dutch pulled away yawning and began heading over to their bedroom, dismissing him with the wave of a hand.

Hosea watched him walk off with a soft smile before he slowly closed his book and got to his feet to go and fetch his cigarettes, a sigh escaping him.

Yes, it wasn’t much, Hosea thought to himself as he looked around the room while lighting a smoke. The shadows that the dying fire cast quivering on the walls drew his attention to their few belongings lying about; a quiet proof that his loved ones were here, safe and sleeping, and that whatever the future would bring them, tonight was peaceful.

Their house wasn’t big, and neither was their family. But it was good. It was sincere, and warm and loving.

And most importantly, it was theirs.


End file.
